


====> Betas: Punkstuck

by Stridererer (adrie)



Series: Beta Schoolstuck [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal High School, F/F, F/M, High School, M/M, Multi, Other, Punk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 01:09:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3958762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrie/pseuds/Stridererer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The betas and their guardians are reimagined in a human highschool setting. This fic revolves around the more, er, alternative edge of things, with the Derse kids and the Prospit trolls as the main event. This explores several humanstuck headcanons, as well as the thin lines between stereotypical and archetypical protagonists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ===>Dave: Awaken

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry, this is my first fic. Go easy on mee.

Your name is Dave Strider. You go to North High here in the fictional city of Belcrest, Kansas. You live with your older brother, Dirk, though if you dared call him that you'd probably have a shitty katana hilt-deep into your abdomen. You live in a small, top-floor apartment with two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen, with virtually zero living space. 

It's five in the fucking morning. This is way too fucking early. You have to be at school in an hour and a half, and didn't do any of your homework despite Bro's menacing reminders to do so. You kill your alarm by throwing at the wall; luckily, the offswitch hits the wall flat, and it stops beeping. Rolling out of bed and taking an 8-foot fall to the floor, you pull off the shorts you slept in, grab a towel, and stumble into the singular bathroom.

You hang the towel on the door, closing it halfway, and start the shower. You quickly brush your teeth before stepping in, the hot water hitting your skin as if it were a rain of bullets. You don't mind. The excruciating pain is calming, as despite the wounds already scattered upon your pale, ghastly skin saying otherwise, you tend to favour temperature related pain to the stinging of cut flesh any day. The few heated safety pin scars littering your wrists, hips and ankles attest to this. You do much better with physical pain you inflict upon yourself than that inflicted by others.

Rinsing your hair out, you chuckle to yourself. That red streak that Kanaya dyed in for you weeks ago is still there. Same with the assorted piercings you had either done yourself or talked Rose into doing for you, as her hands were steadier.

You grab the towel, squeezing out your hair before wrapping it about your waist. Do you even have any clean clothes? You doubt such. You suppose that you could wear that one really comfy red dress shirt. Ironically, of course. You grab boxers from the top drawer of your dresser, and then black, dumb-looking skinny jeans that actually aren't skinny enough to conform to your legs. If you wore girl's clothes, you'd be a perfect size zero, but since you aren't, you make do with 26-34s, which are incredibly hard to find considering that not many people with 26-inch waists can manage a 34 inch inseam. Hah. You lanky motherfucker.

Shoes. Where the fuck are your shoes. You've taken to wearing red and black Nikes that Bro found in the trash at work in perfect condition. They were a size too big, but hella comfortable. And, face it, ironically cool. You catch a glint of red rubber from under your desk, which you parse to be the sole of one of your shoes. You dive into the mess that is your floor, fishing the shoes out and sliding them on. You tie the black laces into a double knot, hissing as one of the aglets catches on the barbell through your purlicue- the webbing between your thumb and forefinger. God, it's already 5:30. You need to pick Karkat, Kanaya and Rose up. 

Grabbing your backpack, shades and headphones, you flash step out the door and into the parking lot. Black truck, black tru- hah. There it is. You materialize the keys from your backpack, unlocking the doors before loading in.

You would only ever drive stick. It gives you far more control, not to mention better mileage. If only this wasn't such a piece of shit, then perhaps you could deal a bit better. Either way. Picking the people up. Right. Hnn.


	2. ===>Kanaya: Rise From Slumber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Point of view is that of Kanaya, obviously.

You are woken by the sound of your mother opening the door to the apartment. "Likely just finished work," you mumble, rubbing your eyes. It's 5:15 in the morning. You feel absolutely disgusting, but aren't going to shower since Dave picks you up at 5:40 every morning. Sighing, you sit up and open the blinds, letting the light in.

Your short, green and black hair is a mess, and the tee you slept in is in an atrocious condition. You slip it off, browsing your closet for something appealing. You settle upon something a bit less modest than usual: an outfit consisting of a black camisole top, a green jacket cropped to your waist, a plaid skirt of the same green that only reaches midthigh, some thigh-high black stockings, and the brightest yellow boots imaginable as a contrast.

You step away from your immaculately organized closet to your bathroom; makeup is absolutely necessary. You start with a light shade with a shimmering tone and brush it over your cheeks, nose, and chin. You then take a matte shade, a bit darker and apply it under your cheekbones, blending with vigour.

Freckles are still visible, scattered upon your cheeks. Which is fine, as they suit you. Closing your eyes, you arrange a black eyeshadow and green eyeliner with expertise. Oh, and the lipstick. God, you love your green lipstick. It's the perfect shade. You line, apply, and set. You style the short hair, grabbing your purse and backpack.

Leaving apartment 662, you tap down six flights of stairs. Not that you mind the walk.

You count impulsively. 601. 603. 605. 607. 609. Before you even reach the door to knock, you find yourself confronted by your (pale)crush in the doorway. 

A soft "Hey, Kanaya" is heard. The ginger in front of you with the messy hair looks you in the eye, his black shirt contrasting it intensely. He looks incredibly stoned, and you wonder what he'd been doing. Looking at him, you smile softly, offering your hand to him. After a moment's pause, he takes it, smiling like a complete and utter dork. Your fingers wrap about his palms, the black claws you have for fingernails resting idly against his skin.

The two of you leave the apartment complex, hands together, your respective nondominant hands in your pockets. 

Strolling out to the corner, you spot Dave's truck turning about the opposite corner. You grin, closing your eyes and waving softly. He notices, pulling in to park across the street.

 


	3. ====>Karkat: Get the fuck up, douche.

> The slim yet unforgiving slivers of sunlight creep through your blinds, directly on to your face.

> It is 5:30 in the morning. Your chocolate brown eyes flutter open. You groan, turning to your side, and as a result you flop off your bed with the grace of a brick. You then roll on your back again, your head lolled to the side. You only then focus in on your digital clock. “Oh shit,” you huff, jumping to your feet. You pull off your shorts and browse your floor for something appealing. You end up with a black turtleneck and some dirty grey jeans. You go to your bathroom, hastily brushing your teeth despite the bristles catching in your red-banded braces, slip on work boots, and shuffle out the door with your backpack.

> Kanaya is in the doorway already. Shit. You usually beat her to the door. You smile at her, emitting a quick and quiet “Hey, Kanaya”, and looking her over. It takes you a moment to notice the hand she has outstretched to you. You internally scream at yourself, taking it with your own. God. Dumbass, get yourself together. Who cares that you just got up, not to mention have one hell of a hangover? You need to get a grip. You give her a sheepish smile.

> Her hands are cold but soft. You smile at the touch- her hold is firm, but nowhere near the so-called 'death grip' of Dave's or Terezi's.

> She leads you out of the apartment building, and off to the sidewalk. When you reach the corner, Dave's truck veers in, cutting off three lanes of traffic. Your eyes widen at this. Is he trying to kill himself? You tighten your grip on Kanaya's hand, taking a breath. Dear gog-

> You take a breath, your grip loosening. Dave parks on the opposite side of the street, and the two of you cross quickly but carefully. You enter the back seat, sitting down, huddling against Kanaya. You try to muster up the courage to yell at Dave.

> “Can you pull your head out of your ass and /not/ kill us all on the drive,” you quip, seatbelting yourself carefully. You don't want to take chances on this one.

> Surprisingly, he looks you over and nods softly. Where was that Strider indifference, the cold exterior?


	4. ===>Dave: Your ass isn't a hat.

> “Can you pull your head out of your ass and not kill us all on the drive?”

> You turn your head sharply towards Karkat. He's right up against Kanaya, and he seems to be.. is he shaking? You sigh. Nodding softly, you turn back to the road, paying attention to it. Picking up Rose should be nothing near the ordeal that this was, as she lives outside of the 5-mile by 5-mile downtown, and furthermore has a driveway.

> You pull back off to the road and start down Fifth Avenue, which at the edge of the downtown area turns into Contin Boulevard. When you reach said point, you go another mile, turn left on to Parquet Way, and again on to Dienne Drive, where Rose lives. You pull straight into the driveway of 4409 Dienne, shouting out your window.

> “Rose, SCHOOL,” you shout. It's already 5:55 and you can't be late again.

> She comes out hurriedly, a lavender backpack with pins everywhere skewed across her shoulders, and an oversized black shirt with a pink squid on it, her boots tapping against the cement. She swerves off to get in the passenger seat, looking back at Kanaya. God they're so red. It's unnerving. You nod softly, turning on the AC and back out. School time.

> Posthaste, you rev the truck, making your way off to the school. Back to Parquet. Then Contin. You go backwards over the same route, making your way to 90th and Eastwood. You drive carefully, as per Karkat's request. Every single turn you make is calculated. No swerving. Nothing resembling a swerve. You go two miles under the speed limit, to every other driver's dismay.

> You make it to the school at 7:30 exactly. You all have to be in homeroom at 7:45. You park and open the doors to the truck, grasping Karkat's free hand, breaking his hold to Kanaya in the process. Rose does the same on the other side of the truck, grabbing Kanaya. You grin like an absolute dork, locking the truck when Karkat and Kanaya join hands again.

> The four of you, the so called "punks", enter the school in a preschool line, not daring let go of each other.


End file.
